


What Pearl of Great Price

by TheWillowBends



Category: Blood and Chocolate - Annette Curtis Klause
Genre: F/M, Gen, Missing Scene, One-Sided Attraction, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24938125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWillowBends/pseuds/TheWillowBends
Summary: Vivian Gandillon was born to be queen.  She just doesn't realize it yet.A missing moment with Gabriel set after the Ordeal.
Relationships: Gabriel/Vivian Gandillon
Comments: 7
Kudos: 13





	What Pearl of Great Price

Gabriel arrives home just as the sun begins its arduous climb into the daylight sky. The weak light of its early rays cast everything in a greyish hue, the illusion of watercolor dispelled only by the distinct geometries of the shape and form within it. He can feel the moisture in the early morning air, the kind that sticks to his fur, refusing to shake off. His tongue still has the taste of salt and blood.

He aches with pain and fatigue, the toll of his impetuous flight, but he welcomes its sensualities, the awareness of muscle and bone. His wounds ooze sluggishly, mainly from the deepest laceration that curves like a scythe across his belly; shifting only exacerbates the injury, tearing at newly healed tissue. Once the wolf is gone, he stands bloodied in his skin, tense and sore, but the smile that cuts his face is hard and bright.

He scales the wall of his apartment carefully, entering through the open window he forces open. Pain steals his grace, and he stumbles on the landing, catching himself with an arm to rock back on his heels. For a moment, he remains crouched there, feeling the beat of his own heart, the knife of cold air in his lungs. His nostrils flare, catching the scent of other wolves. Intruders? No. The elders, his mind supplies. He feels his mouth curl into an easy grin.

He rises slowly, feeling his spine flex with the movement. He takes a long breath, stretching until the joints crack and blood thrums in his veins. The skin never wears easily so soon after a full moon; the wolf lingers, rumbling under the skin. Its hungers are his hungers, and so, too, its desires. The fierce excitement of the hunt is still with him, burning in his belly. He can still taste Vivian's musk in the back of his throat. The wolf wanted her under him, his teeth on her neck; the man knew to be patient, his sentry kept distant and keen.

Finally, he relaxes and moves to the bathroom. In the mirror, he sees the cost of his victory, the patchwork of new scars and open wounds. A shiver of excitement ripples through him at the sight. The pack is his - and so is she, however much she denies it now.

Picking up a cloth, he washes methodically, cleaning dried blood and dirt from his skin. The wounds would heal regardless, but it would make Persia's work easier. When his task is completed, he looks for a long moment in the mirror, seeing a face recognizable only in its superficiality. Under its surface, he feels the rumblings of change greater than that wrought upon blood and bone.

The fickle pleasure of the night is gone now, the sun risen and the gold light seeping in under the slats of the blinds. It crawls across the tile, touching the edges of him. A beginning, it says to him, and he feels its weight keenly. Gabriel takes a breath, holds it in, long enough to feel the burn of it in his chest. When he releases it, the face that looks back at him is certain as stone, unmoved by the indefinite shape of an unseen future.

He dresses simply, leaving his torso bared. The bleeding has stopped, but Persia will want to judge for herself. Their rituals are relics of another age, but they hold power and weight in their familiarity. He will indulge her as he must.

He enters the living room with little ceremony. Persia sits calm and steady, leaning onto her cane, while Orlando paces with obvious ire. They both look to him at the sound of his footsteps.

"We've been waiting for you," Orlando states simply, covering his frustration smoothly.

 _A wise choice_ , Gabriel thinks.

"A long night," he says with a sharp grin. "Hunting that which is not easily caught."

The old man stiffens but holds his tongue. He was known to be fond of Vivian; Gabriel wonders idly what he makes of this development. He hides a cutting smirk. It should surprise none of them that the daughter of Ivan Gandillon continues to thwart every design put to her.

Persia does not speak for the moment, examining their exchange with detached amusement. Gabriel turns to her, feeling the cool approximation of her gaze settle on him. He holds it fast, and it is a long moment before she speaks.

"Your wounds will need tended," she says finally, rising from her chair. The grace of her movements belie the brittleness of her age. "I would have preferred attending you earlier, but seeing as we have a most unorthodox situation on our hands, we will have to make do."

She gestures shortly to the armchair, and Gabriel complies with the order with gentle amusement. Persia is an uncommon creature - the call to heal is rare among their kind. It provides her the privilege of certain latitudes granted to few others, but he doubts any pack leader has found much profit in denying her.

Seated, exhaustion creeps through him. The night was long. He knows the coming day will be longer, but he knows also that there will be no time for rest.

Persia looks him over with a deft eye, her gaze lingering over the worst of his sounds. Taking hold of his left arm, she turns it this way and that, tracing the fibrous, pink membrane of new tissue with a long-nailed finger.

"Little can be done for these at this point, but it should be no matter. They did not penetrate the muscle and will simply heal ugly." She drops his arm, leaning in to press a hand to the angry red gouge through his stomach. He twitches beneath her touch. "This, however, will need stitches. Healed improperly, it will hinder you during the change."

"Do what you must," he answers easily enough.

As Persia opens her bag, Orlando continues his cautious circuit of the room, his eyes tracking the confines of the apartment cleanly.

“Any sign of our presence should be gone by now,” he says finally. “The dead are buried and the rest scattered who did not return with us, though we have some new faces among us from the look of it.”

“Not surprising,” Gabriel comments, cracking his neck. “The lure of a pack is hard to resist for our kind. As long as they don’t cause trouble, they are free to remain. What of the injured?”

“I’ve already seen to them,” Persia answers shortly. “Bucky was the worst that I tended. He’ll be home bound until his neck is healed. The injury is such that it will likely invite questions among humans, regardless.”

Gabriel nods slowly. None of them speak of Jean. In their world, it is unwise to disturb the bones of that already laid to rest.

“My mother and sisters are home safe as well?”

“The Wagners drove them back. The triplets were quite the handful leaving.”

“They often are,” he says fondly.

Orlando is restless, his mouth bowed beneath the weight of a heavy frown. What gears turn in his mind herald nothing good. It pricks at his patience.

"What's on your mind, old man?"

He sighs, as if taxed beyond faculties available. Gabriel withholds a snort, leveling a heavy gaze on him.

“This situation is without precedent. Regardless of Vivian’s intent when she intervened in the fight, her victory asserts her place by your side as queen. To reject the title…” He pauses, clearly considering his next statement.

Gabriel shifts, irritated. He sucks in a breath as Persia presses the cold edge of a blade to him, severing the muscle to properly restitch it. The pain clarifies his agitation.

“What are you worried about?” he bites out.

Orlando hesitates but capitulates quickly at the sight of Gabriel’s hard look. “We are a people of ritual. We’ve adjusted as necessary to live in a modern world overrun by _Homo sapiens_ , but the laws of our ancestors have their place even now. It is what binds us together, despite the opposition of youth who think otherwise. Among those remaining, the Ordeal is among our most sacred.” He pauses, rubbing at his lip, before continuing, “There are those who will not take well to Vivian’s interruption, much less her refusal of the mantle that is rightfully hers.”

“They can be upset,” Gabriel answers flippantly, grimacing as Persia presses gauze to the wound, staunching the new flow of blood. “She won the fight fair and square. If they wish to press the issue, they can take it up with me.” He smiles with teeth.

“I don’t argue the point,” Orlando assures him. “My concern is what it means for the pack. We are fragmented enough. Your position, none will challenge, but if her unwillingness proves to be more than youthful uncertainty…”

He sighs, moving closer to stand over Persia’s shoulder, where she threads a needle calmly, seemingly unmoved by the arguments about her. Gabriel stiffens as she begins the work of stitching his wounds, biting his tongue with pointed teeth.

“I have known Vivian since she was a cub. She has always been stubborn, often to her own detriment, and she is young.” Orlando pauses, shaking his head. “Even in the old days, a queen of her age would be uncommon.”

Persia’s hands are not gentle. It helps him focus. Gabriel tilts his head, cracking his neck; the eyes that meet Orlando’s are frigid and blue. A muscle in his jaw twitches.

“She is seventeen. Old _enough._ ”

“That may be true, but - “

“You assume too much. Do not underestimate her.”

“I am not challenging your authority on the matter,” Orlando responds carefully. “I simply feel it prescient to warn you of what may result of this episode.”

“Would we have preferred Astrid?”

Orlando grimaces. “I won’t deny the outcome could have been worse.”

“What better outcome were you hoping for?” Gabriel presses, a growl sharpening the edge of his tone.

“Nothing so simple or resolute as what we had,” he admits with a sigh.

The sentiment nettles. “Her victory may have been accidental, but her intentions were not. A queen that would risk her life to protect her own will not do wrong by her pack.”

Turning to Persia, he leaves Orlando to stew. “What of the pack,” he asks, changing the subject. “Have they voiced any similar concerns?”

“None so bold, yet,” Persia muses, “but the night was still young when we left it. Daylight may bring other concerns.”

“Not a word even from little Miss Astrid?”

Drawing the needle through the last stitch, she folds it over on itself, tying it off. When she looks up at him, her eyes are deep and dark as the indigo sea.

“Some wear the cost of their foolishness more obviously than others,” she says slowly. Her eyes cut across his face, deliberating something unseen. “Astrid licks her wounds for now, but I would mind her in the coming days.”

He nods absently, running a hand over the newly stitched wound. They itch at the seam where new tissue heals over. His muscles ache and exhaustion tugs at his senses. Soon, he will have to sleep, even as much feels unfinished.

“You will need to bandage this,” Persia states as she gathers her things. “Let the wound air for a few hours yet, but bind it tightly once the wound has closed. It should heal well enough on its own otherwise.”

Inclining his head in gratitude, he stretches, arching his back along the long line of his spine. The muscles burn with the motion, but his joints crack with satisfaction. His face curves lazily into a faint, wry smile.

“I’m assuming your next stop is Rudy’s.”

Orlando hesitates, looking to Persia, who declines to speak with a shrug.

“Yes,” he answers finally, “we will need to speak with Vivian, seeing as how the ceremony was not completed - “

“Don’t,” he says firmly, putting up a hand to block further argument. “Let me speak to her first. She is young, yes, but she is hardly stupid.”

The old wolf shifts uneasily from one foot to another, with the look of one who knows his next words will not be well received. He clears his throat as Gabriel looks to him expectantly.

“Rudy voiced concerns before we parted ways last night. You know as well as anyone that he is very fond of Vivian - in many ways, she is like the daughter he never had, perhaps even more so now that so many of us are gone. I’m not certain how well he’ll receive a visit from you at this time.”

“That won’t be an issue,” Gabriel answers bluntly. “She isn’t his concern any longer. She’s mine.”

Persia remains silent, and Orlando nods, resigning himself to the fact that he was alone in this endeavor. “If that is your wish, we will heed it. I doubt she would be receptive to us, anyhow, given the circumstances.”

“She wouldn’t be a queen if she was so easily swayed,” Gabriel says honestly, his smile easy.

“Well then,” he says after a moment, “if you would see us done here, we’ll be heading out. I’ll speak to Rudy about getting the financial paperwork together in the next few days.”

Gabriel nods absently, running a thumb along his lower lip. He knows much will need done in the days to come, but his thoughts are too centered on the present. Fatigue gives the future a muted aspect in his mind, blurry and indistinct. He stifles the urge to yawn. Later, he thinks, after much has settled, and sees them both to the door.

At the threshold, Orlando pauses again, holding a thought that clearly nags at him, the way a cub might pull at a tail. Whatever it is, he does not give it voice, and Gabriel suspects him wiser for it. The night’s work is done and cemented, however much anyone may wish otherwise. All that remains is to adapt, as their kind have done time and time again.

It is Persia, this time, who decides to speak. The look she levels on him is penetrating and keen, like the clean edge of a knife.

“Go on and start the car,” she tells Orlando, tapping her cane lightly against his shoe, hardly sparing him a glance. “Gabriel and I have a few things to discuss.”

He looks at her warily but relents, making his way down the hallway to outside. He walks stiffly, the night catching up to all of them. They wait until the sound of the front door closing reaches them to face each other.

Persia taps her cane on the floor - once, twice, a little rhythm that inspires a wry look from him. He knows she is not one to speak unless she feels the words have weight and worth.

“Do you think Rudy will be a problem?” he asks her.

“I suspect Orlando is correct in presuming Rudy will be protective of her. He has a way of forgetting females have their own set of claws - but he is also not one to challenge authority. You may have to pull rank, but he will respect your will.”

“Do you think the pack will be a problem then?”

“Only if they are too foolish to know what’s good for them. We need a firm hand right now.”

“You think Vivian is going to be a problem,” he surmises finally.

Persia leans back, setting her cane steady to the floor. She looks at him for a long moment, and Gabriel feels the heaviness of her gaze, a sense of judgement being passed his way.

“She will be good for the pack,” he says, after a moment in which she does not speak. “She is young, yes, and defiant - but she has the potential. It may take time for her to come around, but this would not have happened if it was not meant to be.”

Persia hums in agreement, rocking a little. Her silence has always had teeth. He shifts, uncertain how he feels on the receiving end of its bite.

Finally, she settles, folding her hands and leaning toward him. “I have known Vivian a very long time. A stubborn creature, if I’ve ever known one. Moon knows she’s given her mother grief since the moment of her birth, and you’d do well to presume she will provide you the same.” Pausing, she runs a long nail along the solid oak, scraping the edge, tracing a pattern unseen to his eye. “But you should know that beneath that haughtiness and pride she gets from Esmé, she’s always had her father’s heart. I have met few as compassionate and gentle as Ivan among our kind.”

Her eyes met his, cutting in their intent. “That proved our undoing in West Virginia.”

“You don’t think she can do it.”

“I think she will prove more skittish than you realize,” Persia answers evasively. “That which is caught is not necessarily won. When cornered, even a rabbit will put up a fight.

“Vivian is hardly a rabbit.”

“No,” Persia agrees with a smile, “she’s a wolf. She has _teeth._ ”

“As do I,” he says.

“Yes, and you will have to decide how to use them.”

He looks at her curiously, gauging her response. There is no malice in her tone, but he feels the thin edge of mockery, like a joke to which he is not party. Gabriel frowns, but she is not intimidated.

“These are hard times for wolf-kind. The world has long lost its lustre for that which runs wild. What life we eke out in the pockets of wilderness humans have left us is fraught with its own peril, and there will be a day when I imagine we won’t even have that. In the old days, one as ambitious as you might have commanded from a throne ruling a vast kingdom. Those were simpler times, and to court a queen, one only needed to lay a kill at her feet.”

She gives him a vague smile, enigmatic and a little sad. “But we are not living in those times, and to win this queen, you may require an offering of far greater value.”

“And what do you think that is?” he asks with amusement.

“Well, that will be for you to find out, won’t it?”

Tilting his head, he looks at her thoughtfully. “I guess it will.”

Persia nods once, then rocks back on her heels, striking the ground with her cane once. “Orlando will be getting impatient, so here is where we part ways. Keep an eye on your injuries and call me if complications arise. But as for the hunt ahead of you...I wish you luck.”

With that, she leaves him with a smile, carefully shuffling her way down the steps. He watches after her for a few moments before closing the door firmly, finally alone with his thoughts. The sun has just risen enough to fill the room with warm, golden light, the same color and cast as a she-wolf's eyes under the sway of a full moon.

His body is tired, the wounds aching as they heal, but the wolf is restless. It simmers under his skin, filling him with an anxious, wild energy, the kind that the world has so little place for these days. He forces it down, soothing it with the promise of another hunt to come, of full moons that have yet to rise. Eventually, he makes his way back to the bedroom.

Sleep does not come to him easily. He lets his thoughts wander, following them through all the myriad unknown of the future, the paths that lie before him both certain and unseen. They are aimless musings, circular in their journeys, but almost inevitably doubling back to find Vivian. Her laughter and sharp humor, the cutting edge of her endless daring. The slope of her long, pale neck, the way it begged both the tenderness of a kiss and the bite of sharp teeth. And most of all, the way she had looked at him under the bright eye of a harvest moon, proud and defiant in her fury, refusing even that which was hers rightfully if it meant bending not an inch to him.

Gabriel thinks of her in those last few months before the fire, when she had skated on the razor-thin edge of sixteen. Beautiful and haughty, hiding her insecurity and longing behind a vicious tongue - a girl still, but drifting with every moment closer to the wholeness of young adulthood. He had kept his distance, respectful of her father, but watched as the Five had hounded her, crowding at her borders, never quite crossing them. A queen in the making, he had known even then, too young to know it yet.

She would know now, he thinks.

It would be his pleasure to help her realize it.


End file.
